Born again identities
by Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge
Summary: "Before the hunter had even had time to register the multitude of possible meanings behind the declaration, Cas had winked out of existence, only to appear moments later with a long gleaming dagger gripped tightly in his fist." With Lucifer driving Sam to a slow death, and no other option available, Castiel decides to take drastic measures in an attempt to atone for his mistakes.


**Hi there, all. And welcome to my very first foray into the Supernatural fanfiction world. I recently, after years of hearing from various sources that it's a great show, decided to take some time to give it a go. Took me a few weeks, but I got through it all! And, I have to say, it may not be perfect but it is, overall, a rather fantastic series. Sam and Castiel, I think, are two highly intriguing characters. There's a lot to explore about those two.**

**That said, imagine my disappointment when, in series seven, the writers went for what I felt was a complete cop-out regarding Sam's storyline, and simply transferred his cage-related craziness via some unexplained angel mojo. So I decided to write my own version of how things could have gone. Think of this sort of like an alternate ending to the episode. The entirety of the consequences aren't entirely explained because of that (would be further explored during later episodes), but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. It's also a bit long for a one-shot. Sorry about that.**

**(As a side-note, there are some inconsistencies regarding where people are standing as some points. This is deliberate. what can I say- crazy people don't always get things right.)**

**(Ps. I apologise for the swearing. I don't like swear words. Dean does. Tch.)**

**(Pps. I am from England, not America. I know very little about America. So I apologise in advance for any cultural screw-ups)**

**Disclaimer: I most definitely don't own Supernatural. If I did, the Leviathans would have been a whole lot scarier, and series seven wouldn't have felt like they were just trying to cram is as many jokes about male genitalia as possible.**

* * *

Watching his brother spend his final days lying in a hospital bed, staring hopelessly at a vacant and unassuming chair, was not how Dean had imagined things happening when he had collected Sam from Stanford what felt now like an entire lifetime ago. But that, it seemed, was what was happening. And he couldn't help but feel that it was all his fault. If he'd just kept a better eye on him, or had just left him to live the life he'd always wanted anyway, then Sam would never have had to go through any of this.

Feeling yet another lump forming in his throat as his last great hope shattered into pieces, he turned to the man standing beside him.

"What the hell do you mean you can't?"

Cas didn't even seem able to meet his eyes. "I mean there's nothing left to rebuild."

"Why not?"

"Because it crumbled. The pieces got crushed to dust by whatever's happening inside his head right now."

Staring once again at his baby brother, Dean barely even noticed as his shoulder hit the support of the wall behind him. Still unable to relax his arms from where they were folded across his chest, he looked back at the man who had once been his best friend.

"So you're saying there's nothing?" God, how that hurt to say. He jerked his head slightly in Sam's direction. "He's gonna be like this until his candle blows out?"

Cas' face turned, if possible, even more sombre than before, sending Dean's heart plummeting right back down to hell before the angel's next words had even begun to leave his mouth.

"I'm sorry. This isn't a problem I can make disappear. You know that."

The pair stood for a moment, Dean frozen in place from the raw shock of having his worst fears so brazenly voices, Castiel staring pensively at where Sam lay shivering on the bed. Then piercing brown eyes slammed wide open, and Cas lurched forward with a sudden, long forgotten clarity.

"But I may be able to shift the burden."

Before the hunter had even had time to register the multitude of possible meanings behind the declaration, Cas had winked out of existence, only to appear moments later with a long gleaming dagger gripped tightly in his fist. Seeing the angel advance on the bed, Dean made to leap forward, only to be stopped by some invisible force, penning him into the corner of the room. He couldn't quite quell the rising sense of panic in his gut, beating desperately against the barrier as he fought the suddenly not-so-unfeasible possibility that his old friend might choose to atone for his part in this by simply putting Sam out of his misery.

The fear wasn't exactly assuaged when the blade darted forward to carve a series of deep gashes across his brother's chest.

Even as his assault against the barrier intensified, he could see Sammy screaming silently, clenching in pain and trying so desperately to escape the onslaught that it was almost as though he thought the Devil himself was behind the attack.

Which, Dean realised with a painful lurch, he probably did.

Conversations he had tried desperately to forget slammed to the forefront- theories that this whole world was just another new form of torture. If Sammy believed Cas to be Lucifer- if this was all just proof to him that the illusion was finally crumbling down...

The horrified thought process ground to a halt as Cas turned the knife- still coated in Sammy's blood- and started tearing into his own torso, ripping into it with a kind of savage determination. It was the look in the angel's eyes, rather than anything else, which finally brought an end to Dean's frenzied efforts. That was not the face of someone committing some warped kind of ritualistic murder/suicide. Whatever this was, Cas really, truly believed that it was going to work.

The blade dropped to the floor with a vaguely distant clatter, and Dean's eyes flew automatically to take in the identical sigils etched into each man's flesh. They were vaguely reminiscent of the angel-proofing symbols the brothers had used in the past- which meant they were most likely part of the same language- at yet simultaneously completely unknown to him. Whatever Cas was attempting, it was most likely extremely complex. Either that, or else highly dangerous to both parties involved. Probably both, considering he had gone to the effort of barring Dean from interfering.

The barrier appeared to block out most sound, but he could still make out snatches here and there when the chanting started- a low rumble of angel dialect which, right at that moment, he was sure must have been invented with the sole purpose of making this whole damn ritual impossible for his to understand. Stupid angels with their stupid higher power crap.

Powerless to do anything else, he resigned himself to staring hopelessly across the room, hands still pressed firmly to the non-existent wall, hoping beyond all hope that Cas knew what the hell it was he was doing.

Suddenly, both men involved went perfectly still, rivers of blood pouring out of each and into the other in a twisting, dancing pattern which , under any other circumstances, Dean might have thought of as being oddly beautiful. Eyes darting between his friend and his brother, though, all he could see was agony.

The exchange lasted for about a minute, although each second may as well have been a year as far as the sole spectator was concerned. Eventually, though, it ended, and both parties collapsed in their respective heaps, with Dean almost following a second later as the forces holding him in place snapped apart.

He was by his brother's side in a heartbeat, shaking the younger man's shoulders while simultaneously shooting panicked glances towards the currently unconscious angel on the floor.

"Sam? Sammy!" Was he even breathing? "Cas? What did you do?! Cas!"

The cries caught in his throat, and he was just about to rasp out for someone- _anyone_- to help (even Meg would have been a welcome vision at this point), when both men's eyes flew open, accompanied by near identical heaving breaths.

"Sammy? Cas?"

The gasping continued until Sam's eyes, which had been flitting wildly around the room, fixed themselves on his brother's face with a fragile, broken clarity.

"Dean?"

A half hopeful, half disbelieving breath of laughter burst out before he could stop it. "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, it's me."

"Good. That's good." Sam's eyes flicked once more, then drifted firmly shut, his head lolling gently to one side.

"Sammy?!"

"It's alright, Dean. He is merely sleeping." Dean's head swung around just in time to see the now-standing angel give a confused blink. "How odd. It appears I am about to join him." And that was all the warning the hunter had before Cas took a faltering step forward, and promptly collapsed onto the bed, sprawled out across Sam's legs.

Dean stood slowly, mind strangely blank as he took in the entirety of the scene before him.

"Well what the hell do I do now?!"

* * *

"Oh, Sammy boy! The walls, the walls are bu~urning!"

Sam jolted upright, clutching wildly at his head as the ear-splitting music pierced through the room.

"You're really dead, and still stuck in my cage!"

Brown eyes darted wildly around the flaming room, and almost immediately landed upon the source of the voice. His gaze fixed on the syringe twirling between Lucifer's fingers, mere inches away from the neck of the only other being present.

"You fun time's gone, and we are back toge~ether! It's you and I, we're bonded through the age!"

The needle drew closer, and Sam was powerless to do anything but watch as the thick black liquid within flooded into Dean's veins, sending the older man into a stream of shuddering convulsions.

And then Dean was gone, And Lucifer was behind him on the bed, the cold breath on his neck freezing his body in an icy fear.

"You felt it, didn't you Sammy?" Felt my knife carving into you again." A hand forced his head down, focussing his vision on the wounds on his chest, even as they melded themselves closed. "Felt the reality behind what I told you all those months ago. I let have you fun, bunkmate. And now it's my turn." Lucifer was in front of him now, a smile twitching at his lips, and the needle in his hand replaced with a gleaming, serrated blade. "Now, the only question is: into which lovely little orifice should I insert my little toy here first?"

The fire around him twisted into burning ice, the blade blade twitched closer, and that was when Same _knew_. That was when, for the first time since the illusion of Dean in that warehouse, he knew that there truly was no escaping this. Any last fragile remnants of hope he had clung to so far gave one last shudder, then crumbled into dust.

And Lucifer laughed.

* * *

Dean twitched in his chair, instantly alert as he listened out for whatever had woken him. Eyes still closed, he let his hand drift slowly down towards the knife concealed within his boot. And then the sound came again- a faint, terrified whimper- and he knew.

He was out of the chair in an instant, flying across the room to where Sam was now sitting on the bed. Seeing the tenseness in his brother's posture and the wild, uninhibited horror in his eyes, the older hunter felt any relief he had been harbouring drop away. The dark shadows may have been reduced, but there was no way Sam's state could be described as anything other than worse. Whatever mojo Cas had attempted to work, it had failed. Big time.

A soft grunt of surprise suddenly sounded from somewhere near his feet and, even in his despair, Dean couldn't quite help but roll his eyes. "Speak of the Devil."

A head followed the groan. "I heard no mention of Lucifer. And why do I appear to be concealed beneath a piece of furniture?" The head frowned minutely, before then emerging further. Dean watched the spectacle with a bemused eye, even while most of his attention remained focussed on his brother.

"You didn't zap up. Wouldn't you normally zap up?"

"I appear to be currently incapable of 'zapping up,' as you so put it." The angel's face alighted on the third figure in the room. "Sam..."

And then it was like Dean was invisible. Cas sat down on the side of the bed, his own sharp eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sam's unseeing ones. Several seconds passed in silence so complete Dean could have sworn someone had cast a muting spell over the entire hospital. He didn't move. He hardly even dared breathe. And slowly, slowly, Cas' hand reached out to rest gently- almost tenderly- against Sam's chest.

The effect was immediate, but far from expected. Sam showed no signs of change, the Cas reacted almost as though he had been blasted with a bolt of lightning, spasming violently before going, if possible, even more still than the man he was attempting to heal.

And then, as Dean watched in utter disbelief, a single tear rolled down the angel's face.

* * *

The laughter. That was the worst part. Always had been. Always would be. At first he had thought, naively, that he could tune it out- lock himself away in some tiny little corner of his soul, safe in the knowledge that he had _won_. Because he had, right? He had won?

Or maybe he hadn't. He had saved the Earth, true. Stopped the apocalypse. But had that really been his own choice? Lucifer had known that the fight with Michael would end with their mutual destruction, so what if he had _let_ Sam take over? What if the whole thing had just been some elaborate plot so that, instead of being alone in the pit, he had a brother and a fun little toy to play with?

In the end, though, it didn't matter what the real truth was. Which theory was most accurate. Because once the thought had occurred to him, even for a split second, there had been no place left to hide. And, ever since, that laughter had been there- sometimes verbal, but more often just a malicious tingle in his mind- mocking every moment of the demonic puppet show his life had been. Tearing into him with even more ferocity than the blades and the ice and the endless deaths, and every other torture the creator of torture could ever think to devise.

And now here it was again. As hauntingly gleeful as ever. And even if he had know- because, deep down, he _had_ known- that his whole escape from the cage had been nothing more than a deception all along, it didn't make this particular bout of laughter any less soul-crushing.

Then, suddenly, it was gone. Lucifer was still there, inching the knife ever closer. His mouth was still moving, mouthing the same old warped expression of near child-like joy. But the actual noise? It was gone.

Instead, though, another sound began to echo around the dungeon. A voice. Soft and pain-filled, but a voice nonetheless.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The refrain was repeated, over and over. And even as Sam's fear fought against it, he couldn't help but allow his face to drift towards the direction of the source.

And there he stood- bloodied trench coat and all- stock still in the centre of the cage, with unseen tremors behind his eyes and tears streaming down his face. Sam's heart gave one pathetic leap, then broke yet again.

"Angels don't cry."

But even as he tried to turn away- to block out the vision he couldn't afford to hope for and focus on the evil he knew, the image of Cas was moving toward him.

"This one does."

Fake-Cas reached out, ignoring the clenching of Sam's jaw and his desperate efforts to force his body to back away, and placed his palm flat against where Lucifer's blade had ripped into him.

And, in that instant, everything changed.

Hell faded.

It didn't disappear- not really. Instead, it morphed into something vaguely reminiscent of a hologram. Almost as though someone had gathered up hundreds of old projectors and spread their images throughout the tiny little room he had dwelt in for the past few days. And beyond the projections? Dean, watching over him with a half shell-shocked expression. And Cas- sitting, he realised, directly besides Lucifer, casting wary glances towards the fallen angel and yet seeming so much more _real_- so much more solid- than the tormentor.

Utterly bewildered, Sam found himself unable to speak. If he spoke, the fake reality would shatter somehow. And, even if it was inevitable, he didn't want that to happen. Because even a mental hospital with a scared, frozen Dean for company was better than the alternative. Even if neither Dean nor the angel ever moved again, he didn't want them to be gone yet.

"We won't be."

The voice was jarring. He hadn't expected one of the illusions to speak. And even if one had, he'd had thought his brother was the more likely candidate.

"We are not the illusions here, Sam," Cas continued. He gestured to the fainter images. To Lucifer. "This. All of this. And him. _That_ is the illusion."

Sam shook his head. Lies. All lies. If it was an illusion, Cas wouldn't be able to see it.

"I can see it because _you_ can see it, Sam."

This, Sam decided was definitely a highly absurd illusion. What was Lucifer plotting now, if he required chest carvings and crying mind-reader visions of Castiel to do it?

"Lucifer did not harm you, Sam. Not physically, at least. It was I who etched the sigil into your skin, as I did mine."

Well that was at least partially true- the angel did indeed have torn, bloodied clothes and still-healing wounds.

"The marks are part of an ancient ceremony, one not used for many millennia. The ceremony has formed a bond between us- a merging, if you will. That is why I can see as you do." Cas's hand pressed slightly more firmly against his chest. "Concentrate, Sam. Think back to the moment the cuts were made. You will see the truth."

It took a moment of deliberation. If this was one of Lucifer's tricks, then he would be walking directly into whatever torture he had planned. But if it wasn't...

With one final glance at the still-leering projection, Sam closed his eyes and focused hard. He could see it, as clear as day- Lucifer lunging at him with the knife he held even now. But then there was some kind of pulse, and the image shifted, fading just enough that he was able to see Castiel, too- half hidden by the Devil's form, but there without a doubt. Physical. Real.

He opened his eyes.

"This is real?"

The words had barely left his mouth when the image shattered. The hellish visions cracked, split and crumbled into a million pieces, leaving him all alone with just Dean and Cas for the first time in what felt like over a million years.

It was too much.

Unable to process the extent of his relief, Sam collapsed inwards, not even bothering to fight it as the emotions he had been trying to restrain through centuries of near endless agony came streaming out of him is heaving sobs.

"This is really real?"

And then Dean was there, surrounding him in that special sort of hug reserved only for an older brother desperate to shield his sibling from any and all evils in the world, however impossible the task may be. No-one even blinked an eye when Cas, by some miracle, joined them, strong arms acting as a final barrier between the brothers and what came next. The entire world might have been falling to hell around them, but right at that moment the three of them were lost. Just for now, they were hiding.

And none of them cared.

* * *

He couldn't be sure how long they stayed like that, cocooned in their bond. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes before the three slowly withdrew, but it felt like weeks had passed.

Dean shifted back, coughing slightly as he busied himself with moving his chair closer to his brother's bed. "So how you feeling?"

"Better," the younger hunter explained after a moments thought, tilting his head slightly in what may or may not have been a deliberate effort to shield his red-rimmed eyes from slight. "Not really good, but... better."

Dean looked over at Castiel, giving his brother a few moments to finish composing himself. "And you? Not exactly looking your best there, Cas."

"Also not good," the angel stated. "Although I believe my condition to be several degrees better than that of Sam. I cannot be certain as to how long it will take either of us to recover fully." Once again his expression dropped into one of fervent, apologetic grief, eyes boring into each brother in turn. "I am sorry it ever had to come to this."

Somehow, even through his joy over his brother's apparent recovery, that sentence still sent a jolt of annoyance down Dean's spine.

Had to? It hadn't _had_ to come to this. If Cas had just acted like the friend he was supposed to be, instead of a grade A jerk, then Sammy would still have a solid wall in his head, and he wouldn't have almost died. Again. He had a feeling now wasn't quite the best time to bring up that particular point, though, and so he forced himself (with so small amount of effort) to set the matter aside for the time being. He couldn't quite keep the slightly bitter note out of his voice, though, and he could tell that both of the others noticed.

"And what exactly is 'this,' Cas? I mean, you block me out, slice into my brother, conk out for _hours_, then suddenly wake up and join in on sobfest 2012? What the hell's going on, man?"

Sam blinked. "Wait-hours? And no-one noticed"

"I stashed Sir Weeps-a-lot here under the bed and told the doctors I wasn't leaving now that you were asleep," Dean explained briskly, then grinned. No doubt Sam knew exactly how 'persuasive' he had been in kicking the doctors out (especially as he hadn't been able to risk them seeing Sam's chest). The smirk didn't last long, though. "Cas?"

The angel nodded pensively. "You require further information pertaining to the nature of the ritual's effects, correct?"

"Would definitely help, yeah."

"I see." Hunching forward, but still remaining seated on the bed, Cas rested his hands in his lap. "As I explained beforehand, the ceremony is an old one. I believe the last human joined to an angel in this manner was a man by the name of Samson. The initial incisions and invocation allow for a partial merging of two beings- both their blood and their souls. This may result in the sharing of certain physical traits, but I cannot be certain which ones, beyond the initial healing of the wounds." He paused momentarily to gesture towards the now non-existent gashes. "In Samson's case, until the bond was severed, he possessed the strength of the angel Azariah."

"Wait, this bond thing can be broken? Does that mean that Sammy could go boom again?!"

Cas shook his head. "Unlike Samson, this bond has not been formed with a test for the human participant involved. Barring death, I believe the effect should be permanent. The burden of Sam's time in the cage will be shared between the two of us, and each can act as an anchor for the other to keep focus on reality."

Dean took a moment to process this information, eyes moving over to study his somewhat overwhelmed brother. "So... you're like siamese soul-buddies or something?"

A pause. Cas's expression twitched in that odd manner which always popped up whenever Dean made a reference to anything even remotely related to pop culture. Another moment passed, and then the angel nodded once again.

"Assuming I have deduced the correct meaning behind your use of that particular terminology, I believe that would be an accurate enough description of the situation."

The older hunter gave a relieved sigh. "And that's it, then? You worked your angel mojo, and Sam's visions are gone, right? No more Devil on the doorstep?"

the question seemed to grab Sam's attention, as the younger Winchester focused the entire force of a painfully hopeful, pleading gaze on the trench-coated being.

"Is it?"

But the hopeful expression disappeared in an instant when Cas took just too long to answer. Instead it was replaced with a restrained wave of grief and fear, which were promptly hidden behind a resigned front and utter silence. Seeing the battle play out on the taller man's face, Dean's heart can a painful leap. This was his kid brother- the man he had essentially raised almost entirely alone. In what world was it fair that he had to go through all this?

"It's not that simple," Cas explained regretfully. "The bond has never been instigated with such a purpose before. I cannot possibly predict every eventuality." He fixed Sam in the eyes. "But I am hopeful regarding the idea that it will act as at least a partial barrier. I merely cannot say to what extent."

So, in other words, this was all just one big guessing game. Sam was still up the creek, and Cas was only a possible paddle at best. At this point, it really was looking like Sam would be having Lucifer hanging over him for the rest of his life.

But at least he _had_ a life now. He was alive, and at least functional again.

They could figure out the rest later.

* * *

"Mr Smith, we cannot let your brother leave just because he finally managed to obtain a brief rest! Even if this is a sign that he may be able to sleep normally from this point on, there is still the underlying issue of what caused such a degree of insomnia in the first place!"

"He's fine now!"

"No, Mr. Smith, he is not _fine_. Your brother is suffering from a highly extreme case of psychosis! I cannot possibly allow him to leave this hospital without first conducting a detailed examination into his mental state!"

"You can't keep him here against his will!"

"I can if I believe he poses any sort of risk to the general public. People with his condition have been known to act increasingly erratically. If he has an episode, there is a very real possibility that innocent people could get hurt, and I am not willing to take that risk!"

"Well I am!"

In the corridor outside Dr. Kadinsky's office, the patient in question sank further down into his chair, trying to tune out the noise echoing out from behind the closed door. Dean had dragged Castiel inside nearly twenty minutes ago now, hoping to pass him off as a contacted expert on mental conditions. Not that it had done much good- Cas had mentioned something about damaged souls, the doctor had shot him down, and the argument had been going on ever since.

To be honest, though, Sam couldn't help but agree with the doctor. They still had no idea what state his brain was in now. When the wall first crumbled, he had almost shot Dean. What if he returned to that level of confusion again? What if he really did end up hurting someone? Indeed, if it weren't for this whole mess with the Leviathans, coupled with the fact that they were fairly certain that Cas would have to be around him a large percentage of the time, he may well have insisted himself that Dean just leave him there. It was easily the wisest option.

But wisdom had never exactly been a strong point in the Winchester family.

His internal musings were brought to an abrupt halt when a rush of stabbing tingles suddenly erupted into life, engulfing him feet-first and rapidly spreading upwards into the rest of his body. Wide-eyed and trying not to panic, he stared downwards, watching as hundreds of red-black beetles swarmed over his flesh, their acid-like venom leaving angry, burning trails wherever they went.

Breathing hard, Sam worked furiously to block out the stench of scorched meat. This wasn't real. None of it. No matter how real it looked, how real it felt, how many times he had felt his skin stripped apart in similar manners before, this was. Not. Real.

He couldn't make a sound- couldn't risk any passing nurses hearing it and noticing something was wrong. So he shut his eye, trying to block out every single searing sensation whilst also appearing as calm as humanly possible. Not real. Not real. Not real.

But the bugs were still there, tearing at his flesh, ripping into him and exposing raw, bleeding muscle and hints of brittle bone underneath. He knew what it looked like. Even with his eyes closed, he could still picture every single detail with perfect clarity. Had lived through it too many times not to know exactly how the acid was eating away at every molecule of his being, or how it would feel when he had finally fully dissolved, still completely aware, and Lucifer slowly reformed him from the inside out, forcing him to live through it all in reverse.

Not real. Not real.

But it _felt_ so real.

But it wasn't.

And it was.

And it wasn't.

And it was. It really was. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that this wasn't happening, that it was all in his head, what did it really matter? Even if the pain wasn't physical- not really- it was still _there_. In his mind. And it really, truly _hurt_.

And then it didn't.

Fighting to steady his breathing, Sam warily cracked his eyes open, only to find a somewhat disturbed looking Cas staring straight back at him. And the expression didn't fade, even though it was obvious that the angel was trying to shake it off.

"Well that was... unsettling."

Sam couldn't quite prevent the disbelieving snort. "You don't say."

"I am... unused to such extreme levels of emotion," Cas explained, straightening up. He must have come out alone, because there was no Dean to be seen, and faint sounds of arguing voices could still be heard from the office. "Is human fear always such an intense feeling?"

Blinking in confusion, Sam pushed back the last remnants of his fear and took a moment to study the man before him. He had seen Cas look many things- usually stressed, puzzled or pensive- but he never would have thought it was possible for the angel to appear so... shaken. Like he'd just witnessed the entire world come to an end, and felt every moment of it.

"Cas? You okay there?"

"I am fine. I suspected that an emotional bond had been formed, but that was stronger than expected. I was merely taken by surprise."

"Right..."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say after that, so Sam settled for leaning back in his chair and pondering over what this latest incident implied. Did this mean he would have to be around Cas nigh on 24/7 if he wanted any relief from the hallucinations? And what about this emotion thing? Could it be turned off at all? Or was it only linked to the hallucinations themselves? Because, as much as he knew that this was necessary, he was fairly certain neither of them would want the angel to pick up on every... feeling... he experienced.

Cas joined him on the chairs eventually, his expression back to its default brood, and the two sat in silence until the sound of a door slamming open jolted them out of their respective thoughts. Swinging to face the source of the noise revealed an extremely angry Dean.

"Cas, what the hell, man? Really coulda done with some half-way decent back-up in there! And instead you bow out and come skulk in the hallway? That's messed up, dude."

Cas stood up, adopting his 'I'm-going-to-try-and-explain-something-in-code-so-look-at-who-I'm-jerking-my-head-towards' demeanour.

"I apologise for my abrupt exit, Dean. I had some urgent 'business' to attend to."

Dean's eyes widened marginally, and he cast a worried look at his brother.

"You saying Sammy here needed some company?"

A pause. "That would be a sufficiently vague explanation, yes."

"So soon?"

"It is still early days, Dean. We have no way of knowing how often Sam is likely to... require company."

"What, so he has to have a 24 hour babysitter all of a sudden? That's just screwed up in all the wrong ways."

"I am still here, you know."

Two faces swivelled towards Sam, and Dean gave a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, I know you are, man. And it's looking like you'll have to stay here a while longer."

"What?" But what about the Leviathans? The hunt? He couldn't just stay bundled up in an asylum while the world was, yet again, coming to an end.

"I know, man. It sucks. But we'll be back for you soon enough." A cough sounded from the now open doctor's door, and Dean clenched his door in irritation. "Now, me an' Cas've gotta go for now. Just remember to keep up your midnight prayers, alright? You'll be outta here in no time."

With that said, Dean promptly barged off down the corridor, Castiel firmly in tow, leaving Sam with a still slightly irate Doctor Kadinsky, who was obviously attempting to be apologetic.

"I _am_ sorry, Sam. I simply cannot let your leave without first taking the necessary precautions."

Sam offered the weary man a consoling smile. "It's fine- I understand. And I'm sure my brother does, too. There's just a lot going on right now, and he's kind of stubborn when it comes to family." Why was this happening? He was the one who had nearly died (again), and was stuck with the Devil dogging his every move. And yet here he was, still stuck apologising for his brother. The thought made him oddly happy. Some things, he supposed, would never change.

The doctor nodded understandingly. "I appreciate how difficult this must be for him- for both of you- but we must follow the proper procedure if we want to have him take you home any time soon."

"I know."

The doctor paused for a second, casting a critical eye over Sam's dishevelled appearance.

"Now come on. I'll get a nurse to take you back to your room."

* * *

True to plan, Castiel popped into Sam's room at precisely twelve o'clock. The exhausted hunter had spent most of the rest of the day sleeping, now that he had regained the ability to do so. Plus, not only was it a long yearned for way to pass the time, but it had served an excellent purpose in ensuring he had had no more hallucinations before the angel came back to retrieve him. The result? An extremely groggy Sam blinking heavily through the darkness at the vague figure who had just shaken him awake.

"Cas?"

"It's me. It's time to go."

"Alright, just give me a-" the darkness was replaced by the dim yellow light of a low-class motel "-minute." Sam shielded his eyes, thankful that the cheap lighting meant that the sudden shift hadn't blinded him completely. "Little more warning would've helped, Cas."

"Count yourself lucky you didn't end up on the floor," Dean put in. "Guy's been acting off all day."

And looking at the angel now, even with his instant insistence that he was 'fine,' Sam could see where his brother was coming from. Cas looked about as bad as he himself still felt- his eyes were leaning towards bloodshot, his hands were shaking, and his legs looked like they were about to collapse from underneath him. Whatever the specifics of what this particular piece of mojo were, they had evidently taken a heck of a lot out of him.

"The hell you're fine!" Dean snapped. "Now go get in the car, both of you. We gotta get the hell out of this town before anyone finds out Sam's missing."

Cas straightened slightly. "I can-"

"Not in your state, you can't. I won't let you, especially as Sam's screwed if anything happens to you. One trip was more than enough for the night. Now go get in the car!"

Understanding the logic, and still feeling too strained to argue even if he hadn't, Sam rolled himself off the bed and made for the door, pausing only to try on the jacket and boots Dean had left out for him. Cas's next words, though, grabbed his attention enough to stop him short.

"What about Meg?"

"Meg?! Meg's here? Why is Meg here?"

"Cas lost his memory and got married, and Meg butted in when I was bringing-"

"Wait, Cas got married?!" Sam looked between the other two men, now beyond confused. "What else did I miss?"

"Look, it's a long story, alright? I'll tell you later." Dean rolled his eyes and directed his frustration back on Cas. "Meg's a demon. She's a big girl. She can take care of herself. She is also none of our concern. Now get in the car before I chop your bloody legs off and shove you in there myself!"

"I am fairly certain you would be incapable of-"

"Go!"

And that was Sam's cue to step in. Placing his hands on Castiel's shoulders, he began to guide the angel out of the room. "Come on, we can discuss whether or not Dean could chop your legs off later. For now, though, I think Dean's right- we need to get out of this town ASAP, and you're in no fit state to fly."

It might have been the words, or it might have been some sort of divine intervention- Sam didn't know. But, by some miraculous turn of events, Cas didn't even attempt to argue further. Instead, he went quietly to the car and slid into the back seat without a word of complaint, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the window almost as soon as the door was closed.

Clambering into the passenger seat, Sam promptly mimicked the other man's action, allowing the waves of refreshing coolness to pulse through him, easing the ache which had been worming its way into him temple. He wasn't sure whether it was left over from his sleepless week, or just a side-effect from the soul-merging thing, but he just couldn't seem to shake this constant feeling of lethargy...

By the time Dean finished checking out and made his own way over to their current set of wheels, Sam was already fast asleep.

* * *

Dean drove all night. He was worried, and scared, and angry, and driving helped. It was cathartic. Even if he couldn't blast his music out at full volume, the way he really wanted to.

The thought reminding him of his current situation, Dean glanced over into the passenger seat, then into the back. Both Sam and Cas had been out cold ever since the motel, and he was fairly certain that wasn't a good thing. Even putting Sam's plight aside, angels weren't supposed to sleep.

"Damn it, Cas. What have you gotten yourself into now?"

Not that he wasn't thankful- he was. Sam had been dying, and Cas had stepped in to do what he could to save him, with precious little time to do it. No, the problem was that Cas's plans- especially the more well-intentioned, rashly thought out ones- had a terrible habit of going tits-up in the most craptastic ways imaginable. Hell, this whole mess with Sam? And the Leviathans? None of it would ever have even happened in the first place had Cas not acted like the utter ass he had.

And now it appeared the two sleeping not-so-beauties would have to be practically joined at the hip until they'd figured out precisely how much angel-contact Sam was likely to need if they wanted to keep a lid on crazyfest 2.0. Not to mention how much the bonding had affected the angel in question.

By the time he pulled into a run-down motel in some God-forsaken town in the middle of nowhere, though, Dean was thoroughly fed up with puzzling out all the possible repercussions, figuring they would just have to take things as they came. Besides, they still had a whole globe's worth of shape-shifting, man-eating, nigh-on immortal monsters to deal with. For that, even possible mental breakdowns had to take a back seat.

It felt weird, booking a room for three. Especially when he found out that the only one the motel had to offer still only had two beds. One of them was just a bit bigger was all.

The most difficult part, though, was getting the other two into the room. Both absolutely refused to wake up, and Sam especially was no lightweight. In the end, he was forced to half-drag, half-carry each man in turn (earning him some very odd looks from the old geezer at the front desk), then to just dump them haphazardly across the double bed, and hope for the best. Then, with that out of the way, he secured the room, collapsed into his own bed, and was promptly lost to the world.

* * *

Waking up to the sensation of distant, burning fear is not among the most pleasant of sensations. And it becomes even more unsettling when you can tell instinctively that the fear in questions is most definitely not your own.

Unnerved, and highly disconcerted, Sam bolted upright, eyes darting around wildly in search of the source of the foreign emotion. The room was unfamiliar, but that was to be expected. Dean was conked out on the only other bed, obviously completely oblivious to whatever the hell was going on. And he... he was lying, fully clothed, on top of a considerably larger bed than his brother's. Why on Earth would Dean have happily let _him_ have the double bed?

But that wasn't the issue right now. The fear was becoming sharper. More urgent. And even less pleasant than what had woken him up.

Heart beating a mile a minute, Sam tumbled off the bed and made a break for the door. Whatever was making him feel this way was out there somewhere, and he had to find it. He _needed_ to find it. And every single molecule of his being was screaming at him to _move faster_. Because if there was one thing Lucifer's chew toy knew for certain, it was that there was absolutely no emotion quite as debilitating as fear. Especially when saddled, as in this case, with a good, healthy serving of pain and hopelessness.

Forcing out another burst of speed, Sam darted round the corner of the shabby motel, following the insistent tug in his chest which told him he was going the right way. Spying a hole in the back fence, he ducked through it, dodging past street lamps and parked cars until, finally, he reached the entrance to an alley further down the street and saw...

Castiel.

For a moment, his heart stopped.

Cas was lying in pieces all over the alley, his expression one of pure, unadulterated fear as he watched as each tiny chunk slowly crumbled away and melted into a thick, black ooze. A figure stood over him- an angel, Sam knew- and she was slowly carving out the next chunk of flesh, mockingly explaining all the while about how Cas had brought this on himself. That he needed to be punished- reconfigured- and that it was her job to do it.

Sam blinked, and the angel was Lucifer.

He blinked again, and the woman returned. Only this time, she seemed almost like a ghost. In fact, the entire nightmarish scene had faded into mere faint, flickering images. But Castiel was still there, lying propped-up against the alley wall. And that same, aching fear was still one hundred percent tangible.

The emotion only grew with every step closer, but Sam continued to follow the same unseen force which had led him there in the first place. Laying his head upon the angel's heaving chest, he concentrated with all his might on that strange thread he could feel connecting them, trying to push through an image of what was really going on.

"Cas? Cas? You've got to break through, okay? It's not real. None of it. It's just a hallucination." Nothing. The fake calm in Sam's voice cracked, only to be replaced by a fiery determination. "Come on, Cas. You're stronger than this! You managed to break me out, didn't you? So God help me if I don't manage to return the favour!"

Seconds ticked by like weeks, each one filled with more and more calming assurances. And he could feel the fear increasing all the time. Could feel himself slipping closer and closer to succumbing to its dark thrall. But if that happened, he knew, they could well both be lost to it forever.

And then Cas just... changed. One moment his eyes were wide and unfocused, and the next they were completely lucid. Remnants of fear still remained, dark and cold and deep, but it was less sharp, somehow. Almost like an echo of a particularly vivid nightmare.

Which, Sam supposed, it sort of was.

"You okay, Cas?"

The angel blinked, his gaze rising to meet Sam's. "I was not expecting that."

"I guesses. And that's not what I asked." He paused, mind flashing back to anonymous brown-haired angel. "Who was that, anyway?"

Cas froze for a second, looking about as confused as Sam felt. "I don't know."

The young hunter felt his brow crease in worry. Then, as both he and Cas rose to their feet, a snippet of the angel's explanation from the hospital jumped to the forefront of his mind. "Wait- is this what you meant by 'each an anchor for the other?' Did you know this would happen to you?" The other man diverted his gaze. "Cas?"

It took several seconds for Cas to reply, and when he finally did it was was reluctant to say the least. "I... understood the possibility that I would experience similar visions to yours. But I was unprepared for the weight of emotions which appear to come with them. Angels do not tend to emote so strongly. This human intensity is... bizarre."

Now it was Sam's turn to blink. How on Earth was he supposed to react to that?!

He was spared the trouble of trying, though, when a harsh ringing suddenly erupted from the pocket of his jacket.

Digging the phone out from where his brother had stashed it, he spared just a second to glance at the called ID. Mr. Incredible. Dean must have been playing with his settings again. Bracing himself, he held the speaker a good couple of inches away from his ear. Just in case.

"Hey."

Volume-wise, he was only mildly disappointed. Sam? Where the hell are you? Is Cas with you?"

Tucking the phone in closer, Sam couldn't help but to wonder whether that last sentiment was due to concern for the angel, or merely just insane-brother related worry. "Yeah, Cas is with me. We're not far from the motel. About to head back, actually."

He must have sounded calm enough, because Dean seemed to relax marginally. "Why the hell'd you run off in the fist place, man? You see something again?"

"No, I'm fine," Sam started, then faded off distractedly as he watched angry red hives spring into existence all over Cas's face. Feeling slightly nauseous as they started popping and re-forming at high speed, sending sickening globs of pus flying all over the place, he didn't quite hear the insistent voice on the other end of the line until it was practically yelling.

"Sam!"

"Huh?"

"Finally!"

It was at this point that Cas seemed to notice precisely what was wrong, following Sam's line of sight and giving a half-fascinated, half-disgusted glance towards the exposed skin of his hands as it bubbled and oozed. Once he's noticed, though, it didn't take long for him to clear the hallucination from view, leaving Sam free to interrupt the worriedly annoyed rant Dean had launched into in the meantime.

"Dean! Dean, I'm fine. Cas is fine. We're both fine. We're on our way back now." Nodding for Cas to lead the way, he paused for a moment as the angel rounded the corner of the alley. "And Dean?"

"What?"

"Seems like I'm not the only one with Devil issues any more."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then: "Damn."

* * *

**So? Thoughts? Good? Bad? Utterly abysmal idea? Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. And thanks for reading. ^_^**


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